Playing Rowling's Advocate
by Bakkughan
Summary: If you're reading this, chances are you've already come across several bashing fics, in which some characters, usually good guys in canon, are for whatever reason suddenly the root of all evil. But are they? In this series of drabbles, Harry gets to confront the characters fanfiction writers love to hate and he's getting some answers out of them.
1. On the Magic of War

**AN:** So, sorry for beginning a new story before updating the rest of my stories first, but have no fear! This is more a little sideproject than anything else, just an outlet for the plotbunnies that keep on viciously attacking me during all hours of the day (and most of the night). As such, this story will not follow an updating schedule, instead it will simply be updated whenever I am forced to pump out a chapter :)

As for my other stories, Updates are all on their way, starting with a long overdue one for MotC. After that, I'll either brush up on some of my other story idea's, or just keep on updating. And somehwere inbetween all of that, this fic will get updated.

Do you have any idea's to defend the characters of J.K. Rowling from the bashers? Let me know, maybe you'll inspire a chapter, which will earn you an honourable mention in my AN and a digital cookie. :D

* * *

 **Playing Rowling's advocate**

 **Dumbledore**

"Professor?"

"Yes, my boy?"

"I was just wondering sir, just how much time do we have?"

A soft chuckling followed.

"My dear boy, it could be an hour, or an eternity. I think you'll find that in this place, they can be quite the same."

Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived-But-Possibly-Not-At-The-Moment, furrowed his brow in confusion.

"So, does that mean that we still have time?"

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore looked at the boy beside him with a kind smile, his (in)famous twinkle blazing merrily from behind his half-moon glasses.

"We all have time Harry Potter. It is simply up to us to decide what to do with it."

A silence fell across the ghostly white King's Cross.

"… Did you… Did you just quote _Lord of the Rings_ at me?"

The twinkle fell away, as Dumbledore gave a disappointed pout.

"Ah, read that did you? No doubt I have Miss Granger to thank for being found out." The aged wizard sighed sadly.

"Sir." Harry said a little more forcefully, drawing the attention of the headmaster back to him. "I have a lot of questions, and I want answers. I _deserve_ answers."

Dumbledore gazed at him over his glasses, the twinkles now noticeably absent, as he fixed his student with a heavy gaze. Harry did his best to not look away first or to shuffle with his feet, though it kept getting increasingly difficult as time slowly ticked by.

Finally Dumbledore looked away with a resigned look on his face, giving another heavy sigh. Nodding to himself, the currently dead headmaster answered the young wizard.

"Very well, my boy. I think, having come at the end of your journey, it is only right to know how and why it started."

Dumbledore walked over to one of the pristine white benches lining the platform they had been walking along, gently sitting down and patting the seat beside him with a genial smile. Cautiously Harry followed him, sitting down and awkwardly wringing his hands, until he noticed what he had been doing and resolutely clasped them together.

If Dumbledore noticed, he didn't mention it, apparently content to simply stare ahead of him, obviously waiting for Harry to start asking his questions.

Harry made to do just that, and then suddenly found that he couldn't. There was just _so much_. So much that had happened, so many things that had led to this moment, that had shaped him into who he was today, where could he possibly start?

At the beginning of course.

Harry licked his lips, cleared his throat and croaked out his first question.

"The Dursleys."

Dumbledore inclined his head towards him, silently asking for clarification by raising a single eyebrow.

Swallowing nervously, Harry elaborated.

"Why? Why put me in with them? They hated me. I was absolutely miserable for eleven years of my life, and every single summer after that. I know for a fact that the Weasley's and Professor Lupin would have loved to take me in."

Dumbledore nodded sadly, gently stroking his long flowing beard.

"Let me start by saying Harry, that I had truly hoped that your mother's sister would have welcomed you into her home. Not expected it, of course, but I had hoped for it. Sadly though, it would appear that Minerva's observation of them being 'the worst sort of Muggles' was truer than she could have thought.

Now, why the Dursleys? Why not another family? Your parents had many friends, after all, and you are correct in thinking that many would have taken them in without a second thought. Which is precisely the reason why I couldn't put you with them."

Seeing Harry confused look, Dumbledore explained.

"You _must_ understand, Harry, we were on the losing side of the War. Voldemort and his Dark forces had gripped the Wizarding World in terror, and had for all intents and purposes toppled the Ministry. Only Hogwarts stood tall, a bastion against the Darkness, and my Order of the Phoenix gave everything they had in fighting it alongside me."

Dumbledore paused, grief clear in his sad eyes.

"Far more than I ever would have asked of them to give. Far more than they ever _should_ have had to give."

There fell a brief pause, as the ancient wizard tried to recollect himself. Harry didn't really know how to react, or how to give any comfort, so he simply kept quiet.

After a few, deep breaths, Dumbledore continued, though his voice was noticeably subdued.

"But we were hopelessly outnumbered, and the very nature of Magic, both Dark and Light, meant that we were, to use a Muggle term, hopelessly outgunned as well."

Harry frowned in confusion.

"Sir?"

Dumbledore appeared surprised by the question, looking as if he had been caught up in his reminiscing.

"Yes, my boy?"

"What do you mean, the nature of Dark and Light Magic?"

Dumbledore blinked a few times, before smiling generously.

"Ah, I forgot you probably have not been taught that yet. Now, how to best explain it?" the aged wizard hummed to himself, once more stroking his long white beard.

"Magic and emotions are very closely tied, Harry. Darkness of course is tied to the negative emotions, such as fear and hatred. Light magic on the other hand is tied to positive emotions, such as happiness and love."

Harry blinked a few times in surprised.

"You mean… Magic is like the Force?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled madly again as he leaned a little closer to Harry, winking slyly, while giving a secretive smile.

"It is truly amazing, just how clever Squibs can be, is it not?"

Harry couldn't help but grin back at his headmaster.

Straightening himself again, Dumbledore picked up where he had left off.

"Much like in the Force, the Dark side of Magic, fueled by, and fueling in return, negative emotions is very much suited for strife and combat. Light Magic, on the other hand, is mostly used in healing, or in the tending to growing things, such as nature based Magic.

This meant, that whenever we engaged in combat with the Death Eaters, we, the Light, always had to hold back, using fairly standard spells, fueled more by our willpower and knowledge, than the far more powerful Light Magic which is fueled by emotion, simply because such magic would be rather useless on the battlefield.

There is also the fact that we simply _couldn't_ use Dark Magic. It is a terrible seductress, Harry, mostly because it does exactly what it promises you in its soft whispers. It will give you all the power you can possibly desire, but once you finally have obtained it, and look at your reflection in the mirror, you will hardly recognize the creature staring back at you. Dark Magic can twist a person, Harry, bringing out all of the darkness we all carry within ourselves, while extinguishing all the good that we could do; even if we sought power to do good with in the first place.

The Death Eaters on the other hand, had no such restrictions. They had already giving themselves to the Darkness within them, and did not need to fear any corruption. Their hatred, fueled by the terror and fear they wrought, powered their spells and gave them access to several Dark spells and Magic which were devastating in battle. One curse in particular."

Unbidden, Harry's hand reached up to trace the feint scar that was slashed onto his forehead.

"The Killing Curse" he softly mumbled.

Dumbledore nodded gravely, the twinkle in his eyes once again having died out.

"Indeed. Each time, our people would venture out to do battle, armed with stunners and the like, knowing they would face wizards and witches who would use the foulest and most craven of spells one can think of. They would use their hate to fuel a spell against which there was no defense, and which none had survived. And still they went out and fought, because it was the right thing to do. Even now, I have absolutely no doubt that every single one of them would have been capable of retrieving Godric's sword from the Sorting Hat without any trouble at all."

Again a silence fell, as Harry mulled over the older wizard's words, while Dumbledore himself was once more staring ahead, though his posture was somewhat slumped and his face drawn by grief.

"Sir, is it really true? That only Dark Magic can be used in battle, and not Light Magic?"

At this, Dumbledore's posture straightened, and he looked at Harry with a beaming smile that made him look ten years younger.

Which still left him _really_ old, but that's neither here nor there.

"Oh I wouldn't say so, my boy. You see, while Dark Magic is very destructive indeed, it is no match against the most powerful forms of Light Magic."

Harry perked up at this. Something that was more powerful than the hate-fueled Dark Magic, than the Killing Curse itself? Maybe it could give him an edge against Voldemort and his army.

"What is it, sir?" he asked hopefully.

Dumbledore chuckled warmly, his smile getting even brighter.

"Love, my boy. No matter how strong your rage is, no matter how much terror you spread, it can never be a match against the Light Magic of Love."

Harry's face fell. So much for an edge in battle.

"Love?" the young wizard laughed bitterly.

"You're saying that I can defeat Voldemort with my Love!?" Harry said scornfully, twisting to glare at his headmaster with blazing green eyes.

He was surprised to see Dumbledore still smiling gently at him, apparently unfazed at his outburst.

"I would not be so fast to dismiss the power of Love, my boy. After all…" the aged wizard trailed off meaningfully, slowly tracing his eyes up to Harry's scar before looking him in the eye again and winking.

"… it has done so before."

Once more, Harry's fingers traced the most famous scar in Wizarding history.

"Voldemort used one of the most Dark Curses we know, Harry, fueled by his immense hatred and fear of you, and of what you might become. And yet, it was no match against your mother's love for you, and he was vanquished."

Dumbledore gave another wink, before the smile slid off his face, and he gave another sigh.

"Which brings us to your original question. There you were, recently orphaned, and probably the most famous wizard the Wizarding World had ever seen. What was I to do? Of course, my first thought was to send you with one of your father's friends. So, I sent Hagrid to your house, the moment I had realized what had happened, while I went off to gather Remus, Sirius and Peter.

I was waylaid however, by the sheer pandemonium at the Ministry. Without their leader to get them in line, the Dark forces found themselves stuck in their tracks. Tom never really shared his plans with anybody amongst his organization, Harry, simply because he trusted none among them to not betray him. I had to act, before they could get their act together, but by then, the smarter ones had started to dig themselves in, claiming to have been under the Imperius, while others were quickly following in their footsteps.

I tried what I could, my boy, but all I managed to ensure was that they were unable to freely continue their reign of terror. Of course, it was only later that I realized that many of them had managed to worm their way into positions of power once more, all of them preparing for the eventual return of their Dark Lord. By then, the situation had turned into a cold war, waiting for either the Dark Lord to return, or for you to prove yourself as the Champion of the Light that you have shown yourself to be.

But on that day, I simply fought to have a semblance of a Ministry up and running once more."

Dumbledore paused, grief once more clearly on his face as he recalled the next part of his story.

"And then I learned that not _all_ of the Dark Lord's followers were content with simply waiting for his return. A distraught looking Alastor, covered in new wounds and looking paler than I had ever seen him, stumbled from the Floo in the Ministry Halls, not really appearing as if he was even aware of where he was, and stammering incoherently."

Dumbledore clasped his hands, the long and gnarled fingers folding neatly next to each other. Harry was shocked to see tears brimming in the aged wizard's eyes.

"He had just apprehended the Lestranges. Alice and Frank… they were… they were not in good shape."

Dumbledore trailed off once more, and Harry didn't interrupt. He knew what had happened to the parents of Neville, and had always thought that between the two of them, the shy boy had drawn the shorter straw. To see his parents, but to know they didn't really see him… Harry suppressed a shudder.

No, if Dumbledore needed his time, then Harry understood.

Dumbledore gave another sigh (he did that a lot, Harry noticed) and continued.

"As you can probably imagine, I, along with the rest of the Order, were quite shaken up at the news and were completely caught up in the following rush of events. In all honesty, I had quite forgotten about you at that point. Of course, that didn't last long. It was then that I heard what had happened to Peter and Sirius, though of course the truth would only come out almost thirteen years later.

So there I was, desperately trying to keep a World in chaos together, keep the forces of Dark from grabbing more power than they had already managed to grab, and one _very_ important child. So, where could I leave you where I knew you would be safe? With poor Remus? The man had, in one night, lost two of his best friends to death, along with one of those friend's lovely wife, had lost another two to torture, and had learned that his only remaining friend had betrayed his other friend and was the cause for their deaths.

I don't think he was sober for a full week, and I still cannot find it in myself to blame the poor boy. So, as much as it would hurt him, I could not give him custody of you. It would not be healthy for either of you, I believe.

Your Godfather was in Azkaban, and only Peter knew of his innocence, and he was at the moment a rat. So, that also wasn't a possibility. I'm not sure if you know this or not, but Alice Longbottom, Neville's mother, was supposed to be your Godmother, but… well, I suppose we both know that after that day, that wasn't a possibility either.

The Weasleys then? You would be hard pressed to find a family more entrenched in the Light side of Magic. But, Molly and Arthur had a young child of their own to take care of, not to mention the other children they already had. Molly was still grieving the loss of her brothers to the Death Eaters, and Arthur was desperately trying to make end meets in a World that was in shambles. Money was tight for them then, Harry, and I would not burden them further with another child-"

"That wouldn't have mattered!"

Dumbledore looked at Harry in surprise, caught off guard by the young man's sudden outburst. Harry felt his cheeks become flaming red, but he set his jaw and stubbornly pressed on.

"It wouldn't have mattered to me! You know I don't care about money, sir, and if they needed more them I would gladly give them whatever they needed from my own vault!" Harry said forcefully, chest heaving in emotion.

Dumbledore looked stunned for a few moments, before his eyes began to twinkle madly once more.

"I know, my boy, I know. And I cannot tell you how much it warms my heart to see the loyalty you have towards your friends.

But," Dumbledore said, his voice going a little sterner, "you should ask yourself: would they have taken the money?"

Harry opened his mouth to immediately reply, but found that he couldn't. Would the Weasleys have taken his money, even when their own would have run out? Yes, they would have, he realized, but they would only take as much as was needed to make sure that Harry got the best of the best, and they wouldn't have taken a single Knut for themselves, no matter how much they needed it. Molly would probably whack him around the head with a frying pan if he insisted.

He gave a small, defeated shake of his head. Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully, stroking his silvery beard, before continuing with his story.

"And that's without even considering the fact that most in the Wizarding World knows where they live; had I put you with them, and like you, I have no doubt they would have taken you in as one of their own, then within the year the Dark Forces would have launched an attack.

But then, many other Wizarding families shared the same problem; I either couldn't be sure they would keep your best interest at heart, or I couldn't trust their ability to keep you safe. No, the Wizarding World was not safe for you; you had to disappear, but where?

The Muggle World was looking like the best option; I briefly used my ICW contacts to see if you could perhaps have been taken abroad, but none of the other Wizarding Worlds would take you in out of fear for an international conflict. Voldemort was very much a British problem, and the rest of the World would rather keep it that way."

"Sir, why did _you_ not take me in?"

It was the first time that Harry could remember the Headmaster look absolutely baffled. With wide eyes and open mouth, Dumbledore gaped at Harry, before an enormous grin split his face, tears brimming in his eyes.

"Ah, Harry, that… Thank you, my boy, for such a glowing vote of confidence."

The aged wizard chuckled, before giving a sad shake of his head.

"I'm afraid, though, that wouldn't have been an option. Disregarding the fact that I'm an old man doing the job of three men half my age, the forces of Dark would have raised a pandemonium. The possible next champion of the Light, fostered by the current one? They would have blamed me of hoarding power, would have tried to tear me down in every possible way.

Whether at the Dumbledore residence or at Hogwarts, they would come screaming for my head. I'm rather attached to it, you know, and would rather not lose it. But the more pressing concern would be, that if _I_ went down, the Light would as well. The Order would be leaderless, and Hogwarts would be in the claws of the Dark. Tom would return to a World that did not have the means to oppose him.

I could not let that happen. No, Harry, I was perhaps the worst choice for a foster parent, though when I held you in my arms at 4 Privet Drive, I almost reconsidered. It was not the best choice, but it was the safest one. None in the Wizarding World knew where your mother's sister lived, and should they find out, then I had a decent case in court, should they choose to legally challenge me, for you to remain with your last living blood relatives."

Harry furrowed his brow at that.

"That would hold up in court, sir? It seems like a rather… flimsy reason."

Dumbledore's mustache quivered as the aged wizard smiled.

"Perhaps. But, as everybody who has heard a Death Eater speak, blood is rather important to wizards. They would not challenge a blood claim, because the only way to overturn such a claim would be to accept that blood doesn't really matter; something that they would never be able to do. Just look at dear Mister Longbottom; Augusta used much the same reasoning to obtain custody of her grandson, and it worked for her as well."

A thoughtful silence fell between the two wizards, one of them deep in thought, the other apparently content to simply study the ghostly white architecture of King's Cross Station.

"So…" Harry started thoughtfully, "I was put with 'the worst sort of Muggles' instead of Wizards because I was a danger to every other Wizarding family that would take me in, or they could be a danger to me. And I was put with the Dursleys specifically, because it was the most legal thing that you could think of."

Dumbledore sighed and gave a sad nod.

"I'm sorry, Harry, for all that you have suffered for the decision I made on that day, but I still ask for your forgiveness. Like I said, I had to restore the Wizarding World before Tom's forces gathered their wit, all the while dealing with the tragedies surrounding your and Neville's parents, and Peter's betrayal. Under the circumstances, it was the best that I could come up with."

Dumbledore half-turned in order to look Harry in the eye, over the edge of his half-moon glasses, a serious expression on his face.

"Can you forgive an old man for choosing the best of a series of bad solutions?"

Harry didn't look away, this time not needing to suppress any fidgeting as he seriously considered the older wizard's question. Suddenly he let out a sly grin.

"Can I think about it? After all, we still have time, right?"

Dumbledore blinked a few times in surprise, before he let out a bellowing laugh that seemed to fill the empty train station.

"Indeed we do, my boy, indeed we do." The Headmaster chuckled.

Once more, silence reigned as the two wizards sat unhurriedly on the bench on an empty platform in the ghostly King's Cross Station, having all the time in the world.

* * *

 **AN:** So, what did you think? This chapter is a response to the "Dumbledore put Harry with the Dursleys because of the evil lulz". The way I see it, it was the best he could do in a bad situation. Let me know what you think :D

 **Fun Fact:** J.K. Rowling is the only person in history to willingly go from being a billionaire to a millionaire, due to giving a lot of her fortune to various charties. That's one awesome lady :P


	2. The size of a Wizard's Wand

**AN:** Much like chapter 1, I was forced to write this due to a vicious attack of a particularly tenacious plotbunny, once again demanding that it be either written on the spot, or be completely deleted from my mind. Concidering the attack took place in the middle of my 8-hour shift (I work in the kitchens of a small seafood restaurant) this was obviously a problem. Eventually, I took every single little break I could get to write furisouly on my phone, much to the confusion, and later consternation, of my boss.

Anyway, here is chapter 2. Enjoy =)

* * *

 **The size of a Wizard's Wand**

Harry was shivering in his soaking wet and freezing cold Quidditch Robes. Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and, if you were to ask said team at that moment, a sadistic psychopath, had considered the stormy Autumn afternoon the perfect time for a rigorous training regimen, since no other person would be on the Quidditch pitch.

Nobody sane, that is, which said everything you ever need to know about young Mr. Wood.

Even as Harry hurried towards the changing rooms in desperation for some clothing which wasn't sticking everywhere (and he did mean _everywhere_ ) to his body, he still managed an enthusiastic wave towards a large dark shape barely visible through the pouring rain, which judging by its immense size could only be the Groundkeeper of Hogwarts, Rubeus Hagrid.

That, or it was a small hill which had gained sentience and was now roaming the grounds. Stranger things had happened at Hogwarts. Come to think of it, even if it actually were a sentient hill, Hagrid would probably just coo over it and try to keep it as a pet.

Breathing a sigh of relief as the warmth of the changing rooms enveloped him, Harry's thoughts kept drifting towards the enormous Keeper of the Keys. The man had a heart of gold, but unfortunately also had two left-hands. Seeing as both of those hands were able to dwarf Harry's entire body in size, it was a more serious problem than one would expect.

The man's gigantic size also caused problems for the class he taught: Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid was known (and feared) for his tendency to think of extremely dangerous creatures as harmless, and because of that saw nothing wrong with letting teenage wizards and witches come in contact with the lethal beings.

Harry suspected that the reason Hagrid did this wasn't because of some sort of hidden maliciousness (honestly, he doubted Hagrid even knew _how_ to be malicious in the first place) but simply because to the enormous man, the creatures were in fact harmless. To the average witch or wizard, a hippogriff for instance was a dangerous creature, which should be handled with care and caution at all times.

To Hagrid, a hippogriff was a mix between an angry chicken and a tiny pony.

Toweling his damp hair, making it stick up even worse than it usually did, Harry made his way from the showers to the lockers, absently dodging the... _something_ the Weasley twins were throwing back and forth, with an ease that came from expert Seeker reflexes and frequent exposure to the two redheads.

The Terror Twins paused in their game when they noticed Harry's thoughtfulness. Knowing from experience that whenever Harry looked that thoughtful, he was either knees deep in something that was highly illegal in the entirety of Europe or to expect a certain Dark Lord popping up again sometime during the coming months.

Despite the fact said Dark Lord had been killed off multiple times already, all of those times by Harry himself.

Sharing a silent conversation through nothing but their eyes, a left eyebrow raised at a specific height and angle compared to the right one, a twitching nose and the simultaneous wiggling of their big toe, the Twins approached Harry with identical grins on their faces, which many a teacher and lovers of general order and peace and quiet had come to dread.

"Well if it isn't-"

"-Ickle Harrikins!"

"Why dear brother of mine!"

"Yes brother?"

"It sure does seem as if ickle Harrikins has something on his mind!"

"Why brother mine, I would say you are correct! Mayhap we can relieve poor little ickle Harrikins' burdened mind by taking some of that heavy something on our far superior minds?"

"Why brother mine, that is such a great idea, it could've been thought up by myself!"

"I know, which is why I thought of it first!"

Their odd speech finished, the twins whirled around to face Harry, curiosity burning in their eyes. Harry simply gave a tired smile at the twin's antics. Even though they always managed to brighten up the day, no matter how dark or daunting it had seemed to him, the twins were... tiring at the best of times.

Having just gone through a training regime, designed by Oliver Wood on what had the rainiest day in the History of Scotland, was not the best of times.

"Hey guys."

"Well-"

"-Tell us!"

"Tell you what?"

"What's been-"

"-on your mind-"

"-of course!"

Harry sighed, biting his lip as he studied the Weasleys from the corner of his eye. Like Hagrid, they both had a heart of gold, but, also like Hagrid, they weren't exactly the best at keeping secrets. Hagrid was simply too kind and open to keep anything from anyone, while the twins simply couldn't resist to use any gossip they overheard or were told for a prank, inadvertently exposing the secret in the process.

 _'Oh, whatever, just how much damage can they do anyway?'_

"Well, I was just thinking about Hagrid-"

"By Merlin's star-spangled undergarments, brother mine! It would seem ickle Harrikins has grown up faster than we thought!"

Fred (or George, nobody could really tell, not even Mrs. Weasley) dramatically wiped away a non-existent tear.

"Indeed, oh brother mine! Though, I had not expected for ickle Harrikins to be attracted to somebody of that gender-"

"-or that age-"

"-or such hairiness-"

"-or such... girth-"

"-or-"

"Oh shut it, you!" Harry said good-naturedly, honestly not that bothered by the twin's antics. The two pranksters just grinned back, making Harry roll his eyes in exasperation.

"I was just wondering... Well, Hagrid is pretty... Big..."

Both Weasley brothers snorted in concert at an understatement as large as one of Hagrid's boots.

For those of you wondering, Hagrid's boots were big enough for a firstie to comfortably have a bath in them.

Provided they didn't mind the smell.

"And you're wondering just how Hagrid got so big, is that it?" George (or Fred, who even knew at this point? Harry sure didn't) said with a mischievous smile.

Harry just nodded, warily on the lookout for any bovine fecal matter the Terror Twins might try to send his way.

Another inscrutable look passed between the two redheads, before the one on the left (Harry decided he just wouldn't bother with names at all) shrugged nonchalantly.

"Hagrid's a Half-Giant."

Harry waited for the other shoe to drop, but after the silence stretched itself past the half-minute mark he hesitantly spoke up.

"And?"

The twins shared a somewhat surprised look.

"And nothing." Left said.

"That's it?"

"That's it." Right confirmed.

"Oh."

Harry paused, looking a little stunned.

"Is it... Bad?"

He knew by now that the Wizarding World could be surprisingly bigoted, considering the fact that they themselves were part of fairytales and legends in the muggle world.

Left shrugged again.

"Honestly? It's a couple of shades worse than being Muggleborn, depending on who you ask."

Right picked up when Left trailed off.

"It's why nobody really talks about it, though it's kind of an open secret by now."

Harry nodded, deep in thought once more. He knew that to some wizards, there was absolutely nothing wrong with being Muggleborn, and as such they probably didn't really mind Hagrid's mixed heritage all that much.

There were some wizards though, who despised Muggleborns, which meant that they probably hated Hagrid's guts as well, if not even more so. The Malfoy's came to mind.

Suddenly a thought flashed through his mind, and before he could really stop himself, his mouth had already voiced it to the world.

And, more importantly, to the still nearby Fred and George Weasley.

"So one of his parents was a giant?"

"Yep. His mum, from what I heard." One of them said.

"So Hagrid's dad…?"

"Just a regular wizarding bloke." The other said.

"And just how big are giants?"

Left scratched his head, his head tilted a little in thought.

"Around 20 to 25 feet, I think. Something like that." He said a little unsurely.

Harry looked from Left to Right, but only received non-comprehending stares back. Eventually he couldn't hold it in anymore and blurted out what had been gnawing on his mind ever since Hagrid's heritage was revealed to him.

"Then how, by Merlin's scraggly beard, did they ever manage to do… you know… _it_?!"

Confusion remained on the twin's faces, until it was slowly chased off by comprehension. However, the moment it did, comprehension was swiftly replaced by disgust.

Apparently, the two brother's thought a bit too visually about the how of the matter.

Looking still a little green around the gills, Left answered Harry.

"Well, there's this spell, you see-"

Right picked up where Left left off.

"-it's called the Engorgio Charm-"

"-what it does, is it makes things-"

"-bigger."

"All kinds of… _things_. You know?"

Judging by their embarrassed, and still slightly green, faces, Harry had the idea that they really hoped that Harry _did_ know, since neither of them appeared to want to ponder the conception of Rubeus Hagrid any further than they already had.

"So, Hagrid's dad Engorgio'd his… thingy? Is that even safe?"

Glad to be on (relatively) safer ground, Right nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, pretty much every wizard has done it at some point. Since the witches don't really complain, they pretend that we don't."

"It's kinda like Hagrid being a Half-Giant and all; it's an open secret that every wizard's… _equipment_ , is a couple of inches shorter than it actually is." Left finished for their brother.

Unable to help himself, Harry quickly glanced downwards.

"Huh. Really?"

Two identical gasps of shock and disbelief made him quickly look back up, only to be confronted with the horrified looks on the faces of the Weasley brothers.

"Harry." Left began with a shaking voice.

"Are you saying-" Right continued, voice shaken as well.

"-That _that_ -"

"- is natural!?"

* * *

Harry didn't know it, but this conversation was the reason why, for several weeks on end, it appeared as if the entirety of the female population of Hogwarts were ripping his clothes off with their eyes.

It was also the reason for the many dark looks the entirety of the male population of Hogwarts sent him during that time as well.

The most noteworthy occurrence, however, behind Dumbledore passing him in the hallway one day, leaning in close, winking, and whispering "Well done, my boy, _very_ well done indeed.", was Snape, oddly enough.

The first potions class after Harry had had his training from Hell (though a rather unusual one, in the sense that it was cold and wet, somewhat contradicting the way it was usually depicted) Snape burst through the door of the potions classroom in his usual manner, making several girls scream in fright.

The moment the potions professor's pitch black eyes zeroed in on Harry's emerald green ones, Harry knew he was in a lot of trouble.

More than usual, anyways.

Snape descended upon him like a vengeful angel from a rather dark and monochromatic heaven, black cape fluttering behind him like an overgrown bat on far too much sugar.

" _Potter_." The man hissed through his teeth, the venom lacing the words almost physically pouring down and pooling on the dungeon floor.

"Yes sir?" Harry managed to say, glad that his voice wasn't shaking like a leaf.

His knees on the other hand though…

"I always knew there had to be _something_ about your insufferable half-wit of a father, in order to steal Lily away from me. For so long, I blamed myself, blamed Potter, blamed his looks and his money, but I should've known there was something else that ensnared your mother." Snape ranted, though his voice never raised itself beyond a hushed whisper, somehow making it all the louder in the silent classroom.

Not really knowing how to react to the man's outburst, Harry decided to take the safe route and simply not react at all. Apparently it worked, since, after giving him a glare filled with such sheer loathing it made Neville faint (despite the boy being seated several rows away from Harry), Snape whirled away from him, throwing his hands up in the air in anger.

"Of course, leave it to _Potter_ to ensnare the brightest witch of our age with something so… _barbaric_ as that!" The man screamed in rage, apparently forgetting the students in the classroom, which were all nervously palming their wands and, as stealthily as they could, were sneaking towards the exit to the dungeon room.

None of them appeared to even bother draggin the still unconscious Neville along. When Snape loses his cool, it's every wizard for himself.

"After so many years… so many years of doubt… of loathing… of _self_ -loathing… and it all came down to who had the biggest wand…" Snape trailed off, all of the rage leaving him in a rush.

The Potion Master tiredly made his way towards his desk, before bonelessly dropping himself in his chair. The dark clad man buried his face in his hands, his greasy hair falling around him like a… like a… like a particularly greasy curtain, I suppose.

"Damn you Potter. Damn you…" Snape mumbled through his hands.

Harry, reasonably sure that his teacher was cursing his father and not him, didn't want to risk it though, and silently followed the rest of his classmates in their silent exodus of the dungeons, leaving a broken man behind.

' _What in Merlin's name was that all about?'_ Harry wondered that night, staring at the canopy of his four poster bed, before deciding he wouldn't add the troubles of Severus Snape to his own.

Fluffing his pillow, Harry laid himself to rest, and was soon heard snoring away in an odd, yet somehow touching (and thusly even odder), concert to the bafflingly loud snores of one Ron Weasley.

* * *

 **AN:** I tried to keep it realistic and fitting within canon. I really, really did. But apparently the murderous plotbunnies were not yet done with me, leaving me sitting here at 9pm, staring at my computer screen, thinking to myself: "What the hell have I been smoking?" I blame Fred and George. They are probably my favorite characters from literature, somehwere up there with Commander Sam Vimes and Samwise Gamee. I could honestly just read 7 books, just about the shoolyears of Gred and Forge, and just not bother at all with Harry en Co.

Also, Merlin's undergarments; concidering most of the more powerful wizards have either a unique sence of fashion or a total lack of common sense (more often than not, both) and concidering Merlin is hailed as the most powerful wizard in, like, ever, his undergarments _would_ be star-spangled, right?

Right?

What am I doing with my life? T_T

 **Fun Fact:** Oliver and James Phelps, who play George and Fred Weasley respectively, played parts of each others characters on set in several scenes during the filming of The Goblet of Fire. This was only discovered at the end of the filming process, which meant that eventually, much of the film had to be reshot.


End file.
